Lou meets her Prince Charming Part 2: In desperate need of the obvious

I really thought the last time I would have to deal pants down/t-shirt wearing/ cock exposing boy was as he stood still half naked in the doorway to his friends slum/ chick pulling pad telling me he didn’t need a woman like me in his life (I think the fact that I breathe really would’ve been what drove us apart in the end) and the only thing really upsetting me was his flagrant display of genitals and the fact that he had some sort of piece of lint, I think it was lint, hanging from the tip and as far as tips go I was certain I never ever wanted to see it again, but like I said I’m pretty sure it was lint – f**k I hope it was, I just didn’t want to get that close ever again.

…I really should’ve been more specific – I never ever wanted to see the owner of said tip again, but as fate and I are not the best of friends, I must have blanked my fate in a post office or bar one day, I was destined from the moment he shut the door on me to run into him everywhere I go, and in what can only be seen as an attempt to exacerbate his whole creepy, I’m not entirely a functioning member of society thing he’s got going on he doesn’t come up and speak to me, no, he sends me text messages after the fact telling me he saw me but chose not to speak to me, which leads me to more plaguing problem – he has my phone number, something I did not give him, he knows my surname something I’m sure again I did not mention throughout our encounter and in order to know both of these things it must mean we have mutual friends or a disgruntled acquaintance/ other genital adorning gent who wants my life to come to an end Deliverance/ Deer Hunter style.

‘You bring this on yourself, like a whore brings on annual STD checks’ said my friend after I’d confronted her over whether or not she’d given out my number to the aforementioned gentlemen.

‘I don’t even know him’ she went onto say ‘and I think a guy who thinks it’s ok to just get his cock out for no particular reason, well that reflects more on the type of people you know Lou.’

I really had to stop writing this blog; it was giving everyone in my life other than myself a very unfair advantage and I lot more people had started patting me on the head of late…with that look, that look that says ‘I’m glad you’re no child of mine’ or ‘you might want to invest in some more supportive underwear’ (ok, to be fair, only my mother looks at me with that intent in her eyes).

‘Yes, but you know people so my suspicions are perfectly justified’ – they clearly weren’t, as I went to confiscate her SIM card for further forensic analysis I knew I had gone too far as she snatched it back off me and hit me on the head.

‘Ouch’

‘Don’t touch my things’ she scolded ‘actually best you stop touching things in general, that’s how all this crap happens. I’m getting you one of those rings that Miley Cyrus wears – you know the ones that say ‘not to be opened before marriage.’”

…I was not to be rationalised with.

‘He told me he didn’t know who I was, I thought I was safe.’

‘You didn’t meet him dogging did you?’

‘No, opening of that writer’s festival a few weeks back.’

‘Oh well in that case you’re safe, yep certain never to run into him again and hey you can rest assured that no one in Melbourne, especially your circles would know who he is.’

‘Could you have lathered up that comment in anymore sarcasm?’ I snapped back.

‘What do you want from me Lou? If you’d met him at a rugby league gang bang in a Tasmanian hotel room then yeah constantly running into him would seem strange, but whinging about seeing him again at a gallery in Northcote well like I said, you bring this on yourself.’

‘I didn’t know he was there, he texted me at like 3 in the morning to tell me he saw me there and he even went as far as to reference people I was seen talking to and that I ate Indian food while crammed in a booth. I mean he was very, very specific.’

‘And you’ve never been too fond of those that specify have you Lou…’

‘I might even have to call the police.’

‘If he didn’t touch you with it you really won’t have much of a case.’

‘I’m not talking bout the other night, I’m talking about the stalking.’

‘Looking at you from afar Lou and texting abusive messages to you at 3 in the morning isn’t stalking Lou, if anything he appears to be taking a more developed interest in you than anyone you’ve gone out with lately has.’

‘That’s not true’ …ok, so it kinda was, but I was too busy tying my shoelace to say anything, I’m no good at multi-tasking you see.

‘Isn’t he a critic or something?’

‘You do know him!’

‘No, it was just an educated guess, I assumed based on his behaviour and emotional maturity that he worked in some arts related field, then I thought given it turns out he knows who you are, though god knows why there are surely more recognisable people around, like sometimes even I don’t realise it’s you till your right up in my face and as you know I have 20-20 vision Lou and I don’t drink.’

It wasn’t fair, I was being stalked by cock/ t-shirt boy and no one was taking me seriously – this was so going to end midday movie style and given that Sally Field was far to old to play me, the role was surely going to go to the younger sister from 7th Heaven and that would just be bullshit.

As I walked down the street I wandered if my clothing was descriptive enough for people to remember their last citing of me when the police did a call out for my whereabouts, my photo splashed across newspapers and TV screens across the nation alongside grainy CTV footage of me being last spotted outside the 7 Eleven on Swanston St between the hours of 7pm and 7.03pm on Sunday night…I should’ve worn my white shoes, people always remember girls with white shoes. Of course the police would have to search my room for clues and in the process they’d find old diaries, cut out pictures of me and Joshua Jackson from the late 90’s, that sandwich I couldn’t find, but don’t remember losing and they’d pour over my emails to reveal my entirely dysfunctional relationship I have with an ex of mine and my phone records would reveal an entire encounter with a boy defined by a mass of ya mama jokes we sent each other – they’d give up looking for me and judge that I must’ve been a victim of my lifestyle choices….

Arriving home I logged on to my computer to find that he’d posted another comment on my blog, this time pointing out that my hair has since gotten shorter than the last picture he saw of me and that I should grow out my fringe again, it makes me look softer and more approachable which is only a positive thing in my line of work – maybe I was looking at this all wrong, sure we were talking about a guy with a penchant for bringing women back to a whore house and letting bits of lint hang off his cock, but maybe I’d been too harsh, after all I was no doubt going to be crossing paths with him again, I mean the Melbourne Film Festival is pretty much upon us and hey perhaps stalkers can be handy, I mean who doesn’t need someone in their life to constantly point out the obvious?…quite clearly it is something I’m in desperate need of.